“Augg,” Orphas yelled from beneath the limp body of a soldier the last of the rooftop ogres hurled onto him. “My lady, defend thyself,” the chrome-capped wizard managed to get out of his mouth. “Protect the prince.”
The huge, lumbering form of the ogre eased toward them, filling the duchess’s bright-burned eyes with shadow. Slapping with intense, brutal, openhanded blows, she swatted the maid apart from the prince so that she could draw his sword. As soon as the blade cleared the scabbard, the maid latched back onto Russet Oakarm as if he were the only thing floating in a storm-raged sea.
“I can’t see,” Gallarain cursed as she jabbed the sword out wildly toward the looming shadows before her. She didn’t know it, but the ogre was a good three paces out of range yet. Seeing the blade, it eased to the side, fighting to keep its blood-lusting excitement contained.
“Hold it off for just another moment.” Orphas grunted his way out from under the soldier’s corpse. “I’m coming.”
“I can’t see!” the duchess yelled more forcefully.
The ogre avoided her feeble swipe and managed to latch onto a leg. It wasn’t the duchess who it clutched, though.
The maid squealed out in terrified fright. The prince, her lifeline, was being pulled away from her by the dark beast. With a series of frantic, vicious kicks, brought on by nothing more than panic, she landed half a dozen blows along the ogre’s shoulder and arm.
With something akin to a snort of disdain, the beast let go of the prince’s leg and caught hold of her thrashing ankle.
A thin, keening shriek followed as the ogre brutally slung the maid away from the parapet. She landed with a yell-stopping thud in a broken-legged sprawl and began mewling incoherent sobs.
The duchess jabbed at the dark shape she could now make out beside her. The point of the prince’s sword found flesh, but only just broke the ogre’s green-tinted skin.
Orphas staggered to his feet and took a moment to take in the scene.
Standing with one of its huge feet on Prince Russet’s chest, the hulking ogre seethed at Duchess Gallarain. The duchess was in an uncertain crouch, making another jab at the thing. She’d stabbed it once, in the lower abdomen, just above its exposed nest of matted pubic hair. The beast looked none too pleased by the painful wound and fearlessly slapped the sword away when it came near. Its brutal blow sent the blade spinning out over the parapet wall. To Orphas’s great surprise, the duchess didn’t turn and flee. Instead, she let out a guttural battle yell and squared off with the massive beast as if to brawl with it.
Movement behind him caused Orphas to spin around, but he wasn’t quick enough. One of the two ogres that had scaled the ladder while he and the others were occupied nearly took his head off with a smashing fist. As he spun back around from the power of the blow he saw the duchess flailing and kicking out wildly. The beast had her lifted up by the hair and was sinking its jagged yellow teeth into her neck. Then it froze and looked up. As unconsciousness slowly rolled over Orphas’s mind, something huge and as red as the bloody pool under his cheek went streaking by at an impossible speed. He had no idea what it could be, but the fear it instilled in him made him want to flee.
I’m off to make a fool of a fool,
and a fool of a kingdom too.
I might lose my head to the kingsman’s ax,
but I’ll try to fool him too.
– The King of Fools
Vanx, with his eyes clenched shut, suddenly felt his body being pressed downward against the dragon’s back so hard that he feared his legs might be split around its great girth. He found he was fighting to keep from crushing the pup between his chest and the big triangular plate jutting up before him. He chanced a peek and saw the buildings and towers of Dyntalla streaking past them in a blurry whir. The sight was only a partial relief.
They were no longer flying toward the ground. They were skimming across the rooftops like a seagull skims the waves. Trying to look up without having his head ripped away backward, Vanx caught a brief glimpse of Zeezle’s blue dragonskin coat sparkling as it came tumbling toward them in a tangle of shiny hair, glittery sapphire scales, and skewed limbs. Then he went down past the dragon’s horned head and out of view.
When Pyra rolled her great bulk over, Vanx didn’t dare look down. The last thing he wanted to see was the splattered ruin of his lifelong friend. Just as quickly, Pyra canted back and threw out her wings. All this happened just in time for her to worm her body, like a snake slithering through the air, around a large building and up and over the stronghold’s wall. Then they were gliding over the rectangular farm plots spread out inside the larger, outer wall. Through the tears that were filling his eyes, Vanx noticed that most of the ranch houses were smoldering ruins. Pens that only a week ago were full of sheep or cattle were now littered with half-ruined carcasses. A pride of skittish haulkattens, feeding on the fallen herd animals, scattered like birds from a meal when the dragon swept over them.
When they glided over the great outer wall, Vanx saw the ruin of the western gate. Had they all been killed? Was he too late to save Gallarael? A wave of helplessness washed over him. He hadn’t made it in time. He’d failed.
From below, a somewhat breathless but insistent voice came calling up at him. It took a few moments for the sound to register in Vanx’s troubled mind.
“Go back! Vanx, send her back.” It was Zeezle yelling from where he was firmly gripped in one of Pyra’s great claws. “Back to the stronghold! We can still save Quazar and Prince Russet from the ogres.”
“Ogres?” Pyra hissed excitedly.
Hope flared to life within Vanx once again. “Yes, ogres,” he reassured her. “By the looks of it, there are enough of them around to keep your belly full for a year or two. And by the grace of the Goddess, you beautiful, magnificent, sleek, flying wonder, you deserve the feast of a lifetime.”
On the rooftop, the ogre dangling the duchess’s now half-naked body tossed her to the side, her full, pink-nippled breasts no longer able to hold its attention. She had torn open her gown and exposed them, hoping that they would delay the creature’s savage bite. Amazingly, the sight of her plump tits had done just that.
The ogre was rushing to the ladder now, jostling for position with another ogre. This one was dragging the limp maid by her well-chewed leg. It was reluctant to turn her loose, but once the first ogre started down, it did. Something else had captured their attention, something that overrode all of their instinct to feed on the bodies of the humans they’d conquered. It was the very same power that brought them there in the first place.
The Blood Stone was dangling from a length of heavy silver chain Vanx had found, on a jeweler’s spool, among Pyra’s vast treasure hoard. They’d struck a bargain. The Blood Stone in exchange for her help. The tiny rock was smaller than the links of chain that now held it around her massive neck, but its power radiated in such a way that it caused the Queen of Dragon Isle to beam with delight.
Pyra came thumping to a hover just over the stronghold rooftop. From all over Dyntalla the ogres started streaming mindlessly into the courtyard below.
Deftly, Pyra snatched the last ogre up as he turned from the ladder to come back toward the Blood Stone. There was a rumbling gout of fire and the sound of sizzling meat, and then the crunching of bones followed. After that there was a long, low, purring of delight. “Mmmm, yessss,” she hissed. “Much better than orcs and fish.”
“Thank you, your radiance,” Zeezle said with a flourishing bow after she dropped him onto the roof. “I owe you my life.”
“You owe your life to your friend,” Pyra hissed. She lowered her huge head closer to the rooftop so that Vanx could dismount. “Our bargain is done, emerald eyes.”
“Yup,” Vanx agreed as he tried to remain standing on legs as solid as water. “But there is one more favor I would ask of you before you start your feast.”
“What is this favor?” Pyra cocked her massive head curiously.
“Fly to the west, towar
d the mountains, and draw the ogres out of the city before you start roasting them.”
The pup wiggled its head out of the papoon, took one look at the dragon, and let out a peal of savage barks.
The dragon roared out a deep, resounding laugh, sending a cloud of black smoke from its snout. “It is done,” Pyra said as she lifted herself up higher above the rooftop.
Vanx gave her a respectful bow and when he raised his eyes back skyward she was already banking away. He watched her only long enough to realize that someone was insistently calling out his name.
“Vanx! Oh my beautiful Vanx Malic,” Duchess Gallarain called as she ran across the rooftop toward him. “I knew you’d come and save me.” Her exposed breasts bounced with her footfalls, vacating his mind of all sensible thought. Before he knew what was happening he was wrapped up in her arms, her lips kissing his face again and again and again. Her huge, soft breasts pressed so hard against him that he thought she might crush the pup. When he looked down he had to laugh, for even the pup seemed comforted by the feel of them.
“I thought you were dead,” she cried out in a mixture of relief and anguish. “After what happened to Gallarael, I couldn’t bear the thought that you gave your life for nothing.”
“Where is she?” Vanx asked, his mind suddenly jolted back to the moment. “I’ve got a bottle of dragon’s blood right here.”
“She is… She is… Oh, Vanx,” the duchess cried as she clutched him all the tighter, causing the pup to yelp and squirm.
“She may be beyond help,” Zeezle said from where he was crouched over the duchess’s maid. “The fire wyrm blood we returned with somehow changed her into something wild.”
“Olden Pak and Pyra both said that this blood can reverse the destruction of the fang-flower venom.”
“We had the blood of a fire breather. I know because I pricked her myself.”
“Is it true?” The duchess pulled back and looked into Vanx’s eyes from an arm’s length away. What she saw in them clearly filled her with hope.
Using the moment to free itself, the pup nearly dove out of the papoon toward the rooftop. Vanx saved it from a fall and absently sat it by his feet. Without even bothering to sniff out a good place, the pup moved a few feet away, hunched its little body and relieved itself.
“It’s not a matter of whether the blood will save her or not,” said Zeezle, trying not to laugh at the little dog’s lack of modesty. He might have done the same thing had there not been so many injuries to tend and so many eyes upon him. The two falls and the wild ride in Pyra’s claws had scared him so completely that he was surprised he didn’t have a load in his britches. “It’s a matter of catching hold of her without being killed. She tore Trevin up bad and put a set of stripes across Darbon’s face.”
“She hurt Trevin?” Vanx asked with amazement. “But she loves him more than anything.”
“And he still loves her.” Zeezle averted his eyes from the duchess’s breasts. In all his life he’d never been attracted to a human female, yet he had no problem understanding how Vanx had gotten caught up in this mess. “There will be time to catch her later.” Zeezle pointed toward the bodies of Quazar and Prince Russet, then across the roof where Orphas was trying to roll over onto his side. “We’ve plenty to worry about for the moment.”
Vanx nodded and surprised himself by somehow pulling his attention away from Duchess Gallarain.
Quazar had several broken ribs. Orphas had a nasty wound where the edge of his chrome skullcap had cut into his scalp. Prince Russet hadn’t been injured any further than the broken arm, and the spells the two wizards cast on it had gone far toward eradicating the infection.
The duchess’s maid had a huge bite taken out of her thigh and had lost enough blood to make the wound a serious one. With Zeezle and Orphas’s hovering about, though, the bleeding had been stopped and the bite cleansed of the filth from the ogre’s mouth.
The ogre horde was leaving Dyntalla Stronghold in a stampede, drawn westward by the pull of Pyra’s new prize. They seemed unconcerned about what awaited them. Vanx could only guess what the fiery slaughter would be like. He was just glad that his friends, or at least most of them, had survived the whole ordeal.
Later in the evening, after the prince woke to find that Vanx had not only survived on Dragon Isle, but had returned on the Fire Queen’s back to save the city, he ordered Orphas to send a message to the king that it was safe to return. By the next morning the people of Dyntalla were streaming back by the boatload to begin the daunting task of burying the dead and rebuilding all that had been destroyed.
In the afternoon Darbon was found wandering the halls, covered in blood, and babbling on about Matty, Trevin, and Gallarael. After he was calmed and the story was drawn out of him, Vanx, Zeezle, and Orphas found the sleek, black-skinned form of Gallarael Martin curled protectively around the lover she had nearly killed.
Orphas spelled her into a deep sleep from the doorway, and then Vanx followed Quazar’s instructions and gave her a dose of the potion rendered from Pyra’s blood—blood a blue dragon had drawn during its aerial battle with the queen dragon, blood that had been bathed for most of a night under the full light of Aur and her dancing stars.
Zeezle helped a pair of soldiers clear the doorway so that Matty’s corpse could be carried out and another bed dragged in. The potion started working immediately on Gallarael’s body, but both wizards agreed that it would take quite a while for it to completely reverse the changes the other mixture had caused, if it even worked at all. No one had any idea how all of this would affect her unborn child.
While this was going on, the emaciated and infuriated Duke of Highlake, who had escaped being an ogre’s meal only because the door to his cell refused to completely give way, found the king’s ear. Now he sat, filthy and stinking, in a small yet opulent chamber shoveling hot bread and salted pork down his gullet between gulping sips of wine.
The king heard the short version of what happened from his son, but heard no real proof that Humbrick Martin had ordered the attack on the caravan. For all he knew, it was in fact true what Duke Martin was telling him, that lovestruck Commander Aldine had given the order, and had later poisoned himself out of guilt or fear of punishment.
In fact, the king didn’t have much choice in the matter. Kingdom law, written by his own father, dictated that he would have to oversee not only one, but two trials, for Humbrick Martin refused to let the fact that Vanx Malic was still his slave be forgotten.
With much regret in his voice, and a sigh of frustration, King Oakarm ordered the half-blooded Zythian to be taken into custody. He had the decency and foresight, at least, to let his son carry out the order and allow Vanx to be housed under the prince’s guard in the finest guest room Duke Elmont’s stronghold had left intact.
I’m off to make a fool of a fool,
and a fool of a duke as well.
Only a fool can fool a fool,
But with a duke’s wits who can tell?
– The King of Fools (as sung by Vanx Malic)
Since one trial could render the other pointless, the accusations against Duke Martin would be heard first, and quickly. The people of Dyntalla considered Vanx a hero. With Duchess Gallarain, Darbon, and with the help of the wizards, they made that opinion perfectly clear to the king. If Duke Martin was found guilty of any of his crimes he would lose his title and all of his property, including his slaves. They would revert to the Crown. The king could then grant Vanx’s freedom and honor his deeds properly. If Duke Martin somehow proved the charges against himself false, then he would retain his title and holdings and a new hearing would commence. The second trial would determine if Vanx’s actions after the attack on the caravan constituted those of an escaped slave, or something else. Needless to say, the king, and everyone else in Dyntalla, wanted to avoid the second event. Not only because Vanx had saved thousands and thousands of lives, but because the penalty for escaping slavery was a one-way visit to the headsman’s block. No
one wanted to see the hero’s head roll, or the riots that would follow such an action.
It took a few days to clear out the corpses and restore the stronghold’s rooms to a presentable state. In that time, Prince Russet went over some of the laws and customs of Parydon Court. A lot of them were just common sense, but enough of the details covering the accusations of the kingdom’s higher nobility caused Vanx to ask for an advocate. Prince Russet agreed to do the job, and not one, but both of the royal wizards were delighted to serve as assistants. Vanx appreciated the help, but decided to read all of the kingdom law he could while he waited for the hearings.
He was disappointed to read that he couldn’t fight Duke Martin in single combat. Slaves in Parydon had almost no rights at all, other than food and shelter—not even the right to fight for themselves.
None of them gave Duke Martin the slightest chance of convincing the king that he hadn’t ordered the attack on the caravan or conspired with the deceased demon, Coll, to kill and frame Commander Aldine for the deed, but just in case, they did their duty as Vanx’s advocates and prepared a case for his defense that made his exploits look exactly like the selfless acts of heroism they were. It was a good thing, too, for in his life Duke Martin had studied the kingdom’s law well. He was as prepared to defend himself as any man could ever have been.
The hearing began in the crowded ballroom one morning about a week after Vanx and Pyra had returned from Dragon Isle. The accuser—in this case, accusers—were both still bedridden. Duke Elmont and Quazar stood at a podium in their stead, but Gallarael and Trevin had been allowed to attend. They were both laid out on divans facing the king’s throne-like seat of judgment and Duke Martin’s podium.
The Legend of Vanx Malic: Book 02 - Dragon Isle Page 15
